Lights, Camera, Turkey?
by Sk8er Chica
Summary: What happens when Conroy's class is assigned to put on a play? Read to find out.
1. Chapter 1: The Assignment

DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!

A/N: Howdy, folks! Since it's almost Thanksgiving, I decided to get into the holiday spirit by writing a short little ficlet. It probably won't be more than four or five chapters, but any and all feedback is still appreciated.

* * *

It was a pretty typical day at Ocean Shores Elementary. Conroy Blanc sat supervising his fifth-grade students, who were filling in maps of the United States and memorizing state capitals. He looked up from the homework he was grading when he heard someone knock on the door. Vice Principal Healy beckoned Conroy into the hallway, where he whispered a few words into his ear, then left with a smirk on his face. 

It seemed that there had been an outbreak of chickenpox among the nusery school and kindergarten students, so Conroy's class had been conscripted to put on the annual Thanksgiving play. Since Conroy was a first-year teacher, he automatically assumed he'd been singled out for the play as some sort of competency inspection.  
He felt positively green as he re-entered his classroom. He sat down on the floor, burying his face in his hands.

Sam Dullard, a stocky boy who wore thick glasses, walked over to comfort his teacher. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"We're putting on the Thanksgiving pageant next Tuesday morning!" Conroy shouted. "We don't have time to prepare! The usual costumes for the play are too small for anyone but Otto! We have no props!" he continued, his Rastafarian accent becoming more pronounced, as it usually did when he was under stress. "I'm ruined!" (Now he was pulling his hair). "My teaching career is over!"

By now, all the students had put down their pencils to watch what was going on.

"I want my mama!" Conroy howled, putting his thumb into his mouth and sucking it.

Most of the class was failing miserably at concealing their snickering. They couldn't help themselves. It wasn't every day your teacher had a nervous breakdown on the classroom floor.

"Don't worry, Conroy," said Sam kindly. "We'll help you. Won't we, Otto?"

Otto Rocket, a short ten-year-old with thick red dreadlocks and teal-tinted sunglasses perched on his nose, replied, "Sure we will."

"You're our bud," added Roderick Vandenack, a very petite brown-haired boy who was wearing a Dodgers baseball cap.

"Yeah, what he said," said Twister Rodriguez, a freckle-faced redhead wearing a backwards striped baseball cap and hightop sneakers.

Conroy took a deep breath to compose himself. One way or another, he had to start assigning duties. "Half of this class will play the Pilgrims and the other half will play their Native-American hosts."

"I call Indian chief!" said Otto, not bothering to raise his hands.

"I'll lead the Pilgrims," Sam volunteered.

"Since you will obviously need some help in writing the play, I'm going to call our class mentors." said Conroy, picking up the phone. "The two leaders of the tribes will need to assist with the writing and the rest of you can paint scenery and make props."

Conroy picked up his telephone and placed a call to Mr. Kiltie, the eighth-grade teacher, and requested that the fifth-grade class mentors report to Mr. Blanc's classroom.

-----

Five minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Twister gulped and slid down in his seat, realizing that one of the class mentors was none other than his older brother, Lars. Lars was often cruel to his little brother, his little brother's friends, and younger kids in general. All in all, not the best choice for a mentor.  
He was accompanied by a short girl with caramel blond hair and cat-shaped eyes, who wore a thin gold chain with a dragon charm attached to it around her neck. This was Riley Perez, a local treasure hunter and direct descendent of the first mate to the vicious pirate Lorenzo. She and Lars had become friendly following a treasure hunt several months ago, during which Otto and his friends had nearly been killed.

Sam got out a stack of paper, pushed his desk against Otto's, and added two empty desks for Lars and Riley. Lars sat down, propping his legs on top of the desk. During the time Otto and Sam jotted down ideas, Lars didn't say a word. Clearly, he had no interest in the progress of the play; he'd just wanted to get out of class.

"The script needs to have four scenes," Conroy directed. "In scene 1, the Pilgrims arrive on Plymouth Rock. In scene 2, the Pilgrims are nearly frozen and starving to death. In scene 3, they meet the Native Americans and ask to share in their harvest feasting. And in the final scene, they all celebrate the first Thanksgiving."

"What part are you playing?" Riley asked.

"I am going to be the turkey," Conroy announced.

He went to the supply closet, collected a large paper sack, paint, feathers, glue, and construction paper. He sat at his desk to begin fashioning his turkey suit.


	2. Chapter 2: Script Struggles

"Okay, how's this?" said Otto, handing a draft of the first scene to Riley.

This is what it said: _'Whoo-hoo! Ride them killer waves. the pilgrims yelled. The Mayflower was being tossed about by a terrible storm at sea. Hang ten, bros! The pilgrims were totally bummed when the storm blew over 'cause they'd been having a gnarly time. They finally ran into a massive rock and almost bit it. This place became known as Plymouth Rock.'_

"Looks fine to me," said Lars with a shrug.

"I don't think this is gonna work." said Riley. "News flash, the Pilgrims didn't talk like that."

"How do _you _know?" Otto challenged. "_I _say this is perfect and we're moving onto the next scene."

"Who died and put you in charge, Rocket Dork?" said Lars.

"I think we should have a big battle in the next scene between the Pilgrims and the Indians." Otto felt there was nothing to draw the attention of a crowd like a good fight scene.

The prop makers begin to test-fire their bow and arrow sets fashioned from pencils, string, and straws from the cafeteria. The Pilgrims retaliated with a volley of notebook paper musket balls. Conroy flapped his arms to attract the class's attention.

"Now, now, class! This must stop!" he said. "The only arrow hitting anyone in this play will be the arrow in my turkey butt!"

At that moment, the lunch bell rang. The class stampeded out the door towards the cafeteria.

"Miss Perez, you and Mr. Rodriguez need to stay behind and help Otto and Sammy finish writing the play." said Conroy as he left for the teachers' lounge.

"Yes, sir," Riley saluted.

Lars gave her a sharp dig in the ribs with his elbow. "What did you say we'd stay for? We both know the munchkins can't write this thing."

"I said we'd stay because it's our duty as class mentors. Besides, I can't handle these two by myself. We're a team, Lars, remember?" she said sweetly.

Things got even worse as lunch break progressed. Otto and Sam got into a big argument over historical accuracy versus audience interest; Riley couldn't read the draft of the second scene because Otto had used the paper it was written on as a placemat for his sandwich. They managed to get the final scenes written just before the dismissal bell. Riley took the script so she could edit it at home.

-----

Riley's fluffy black kitten, Tesoro, ambled over to where her mistress was lying on the carpet. Tesoro yawned, laid down on the script, and began to groom herself.

"You're no help," Riley grumbled. She turned her head toward the sofa, where the older Rodriguez brother sat. "Lars, get down here and help me."

"I can't help if your stupid cat's in the way." he said.

"Don't call Tesoro stupid!" Riley shrieked.

"Gimme a break, Ry," Lars whined. "I'm not good with words and sentences like you are. Besides, I didn't eat nothin' all day. I'm flippin' hungry."

"But we have to finish rewriting the script by tomorrow morning," said Riley, her eyes swimming with tears. "And I don't know where we should start. I mean, there's so many mistakes that editing it could take all night. Just look at the script, for crying loud!"

Stress finally overcame Riley. She hugged her knees to her chest and began to sob. Lars felt slightly alarmed. He had never seen Riley cry before. He walked toward her and timidly wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Please don't cry. I know you can fix this. You're one of the smartest people I know. We're just not thinking straight right now is all." Lars said gently. "Why don't we get some fresh air, pick up something to eat, and come back to work on it later?"

Riley sniffled. "Okay."

---------

Lars and Riley walked down the road in the direction of the Shore Shack, Lars's favorite dining spot. Riley was still crying from stress, so Lars kept an arm around her shoulders. As much as he hated to admit it, comforting someone gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling. He felt her sobbing ease up. Catching him completely by surprise, Riley wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," she said in a small voice.

"Don't worry about it," Lars said over the noise of his growling stomach.

They chose side-by-side counter seats at the restaurant. Riley ordered a chocolate milkshake, medium fries, and a double cheeseburger; Lars ordered the same thing. Riley pulled a five-dollar bill out of her pocket to cover her half, but Lars said, "Mmm-mm. I'm paying for this."

After dinner, they bought ice cream cones on the boardwalk before going back to Riley's house to edit the script. It took nearly three hours, but they were able to successfully rework all four scenes.


	3. Chapter 3: Curtain Time

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter. I promise it'll be funny. Have a happy Thanksgiving!

* * *

On Tuesday morning, a crowd of parents and the rest of the student body took their seats in the auditorium. Riley and Lars were supervising the students as they gathered props and put up scenery. They had written themselves into the play as a Pilgrim who is distrustful of the Indians and the princess of the tribe.

"Are you ready for the play?" Otto asked Roderick.

Roderick wiggled a _shaka _sign. "Ready and raring to go. I stayed up late last night so I could memorize my lines."

Otto's eyes popped. He'd totally forgotten that he'd have lines to memorize. What to do?

"Places, places, everyone!" Conroy shouted. "It's almost time to go on. I beg you. Please, please get the scenes right. My career is on the line."

"Don't worry," said Roderick. "We've rehearsed in Otto's garage every day. I'm sure nothing will go wrong."

Conroy clomped out onstage clad in his turkey suit. He welcomed everyone to the play and talked about the voyage to Plymouth Rock. The curtain went up, revealing the cardboard reproduction of the _Mayflower._

"Land ho!" cried Sam.

"Yes! We're here!" said Lars, doing a little jig in the crow's nest.

The flimsy ship tipped sideways, sending everyone on board crashing painfully to the ground. Otto began to improvise. "Help! Help us! We're drowning!"

"Ha-ha!" cackled Lars. "I can swim! Too bad _you_ can't."

"Why, I oughta--" Otto started.

Conroy herded them backstage again to prepare for the second scene. Otto and the Pilgrims walked out, shivering and Otto let out dramatic moans at intervals.

"How long has it been since our last meal?" he asked Sam.

"Perhaps a week, maybe two." Sam replied.

Several female Pilgrims swooned and fainted.

"We must find someone to help us," said Roderick, checking on the girls. "Or surely we will starve death."

"This is the New World!" Otto cried. "There is no one else here."

All of a sudden, a band of Indians appeared...clad in everything from faded blue jeans to shorts...their faces smeared with red face paint. They even wore small feather headresses made of construction paper. Riley was at the head of the pack.

"Well, well, well," she said lazily, rocking back and forth on her heels. "What have we here? Squanto, kill these strangers."

"As you command, Princess," squeaked Oliver Van Rossum.

Roderick stepped forward. "Please don't hurt us. I assure you we are no threat. We're peaceful travelers. Perhaps you can help us find shelter from the bitter cold and food."

Riley said that she could easily put the hungry Pilgrims out of their misery as she held a foam Atlanta Braves tomahawk high above her head. An epic battle ensued. The Pilgrims, supposedly weakened by hunger, were losing spectacularly.

Enter Conroy. He flapped about the stage, spouting historical facts at intervals. By now, the audience was roaring with laughter. Lars spotted the bird out of the corner of his eye. He fired with his Nerf gun at the same moment the Indians showered the stage with suction cup arrows. As Conroy flopped onstage in a dramatic death spiral, the two sides argued extensively over ownership of the soon-to-be-dead bird.

Then, in a bizarrre change of heart, the class began to sing "We Gather Together." The female Pilgrims passed around dishes of fake food to the Pilgrims and Indians. The kids only just got out of the way before the curtain fell.

The audience applauded and whistled. The cast went out onstage to take their bows. Ray and Tito, who were sitting in the front, looked at each other.

"Did the play always go like this?" Ray asked.

"Don't know, bruddah, but it sure was funny." said Tito.

THE END


End file.
